


i call your name but you're not around

by notsosweetsugar



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Declaration of Love, F/M, Fix-It, Post Season 2 Finale, With happy ending, everyone might be a little bit ooc but hey so much happened, first time writing flaurel, frank didn't kill wallace mahoney, kind of/maybe angst, shitty motel rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsosweetsugar/pseuds/notsosweetsugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she stands up to get her coat and do <em>something</em>, there's a third text. It makes her heart ache just a little bit. It says: <em>I trust you.</em></p><p> </p><p> <strong>set after season two finale;</strong> laurel leaves frank a message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i think i'm losing my mind now

**Author's Note:**

> here it is, my first time writing flaurel. this work is unbetad and i own nothing but the idea. the second part of this story will be up in a few days.

Laurel doesn't really leave Frank's apartment. She sends Bonnie a short text message calling it sick and ignores all the calls she gets from the rest of Keating Five and Bonnie herself. Annalise calls her once too, but she doesn't answer as well.

It's not like she misses him with every beat, it's not like she's breaking down because he's not there. That wouldn't be her style. It's just… Yeah, she does miss him. And after everything that happened, she somehow feels more calm at his place, drinking whiskey from familiar glasses and eating take-out from familiar plates. Even though he's not there.

It takes her three days to finally dial Frank's number. He doesn't answer and Laurel's not suprised at all. She calls him five more time before she finally manages to leave him a message.

“Hi, it's me, Laurel,” she starts, her throat instantly dry. Suddenly, she doesn't remember what she wanted to say. “I, uh… I'm at your place. And it's not like I don't know you're not coming back, it's just… I kinda miss you. And I really need to talk to you, because I can't help but feel like this is all my fault. And, what you said earlier, about-”

A loud beep ends her message and she throws her phone on the table, raising her hand to her temples. It's probably for the best she didn't get to finish. But she's kinda sad and tired, and she runs out of whiskey.

(She actually can't tell how much alcohol she had these past three days. Not enought to get drunk, though.)

She lived in an illusion those couple days. She went shopping, twice, she made her homework on Frank's coffe table and watched television. She can't really cook, so she ordered italian takeout – but the sauce was never as good as Frank's.

She knows this weird thing will have to end eventually. She knows someone (probably Bonnie, since she actually knows a lot about their relationship) will think of looking for her at Frank's apartment.

Yeah, she can even imagine those judgy looks on her 'friend's' faces once she comes back to work, pretending everything's fine. And it's not like she's okay. Not entirely.

Thinking about all this isn't Laurel's favourite thing, but sometimes she can't help but remember Frank's face expression when she told him what she did. God, she wishes she could take it back.

She also remembers when she came to his apartment and he wasn't there. She wakes up at night, afraid that something might've happen to him. She still doesn't know why she thought Frank would hurt himself, but this powerful feeling doesn't seem to leave her.

God, it's not even like they're still together.

But he did tell her he loves her, and even though she told him she doesn't feel the same way, she knows it was a lie.

A sound of an incoming text message stops her train of thoughts. She expects it to be another text from Michaela or Wes, but when she finally takes her phone, she discovers it's neither one of them. It's not even Bonnie.

It's _Frank_.

She opens the message and her fingers are shaking. It's nothing more than an adress and a room number. She investigates briefly to learn it's a shitty motel just outside the town. She's not sure what to do with that information when she gets another message.

_Come alone._

And then, when she stands up to get her coat and do _something,_ there's a third one. It makes her heart ache just a little bit.

It says: _I trust you._

 

–

 

Woman at the front desk confirms that a “ridiculously handsome man” is staying in the room number 308. That's everything Laurel needs.

But she still takes three deep breaths before knocking to the door. For a few seconds she almost turns around and runs away, sure he changed his mind and left before she got there, but then the door open and he's there.

He doesn't look like he's usual self. He kind of reminds her of the night Sam was murdered – he's not wearing hair gel and has only t-shirt and a pair of sweats on. There's also something different in his eyes, but Laurel can't really put a finger on it.

“You came,” he says and opens the door a little bit wider to let her in. She hesitates, but steps inside.

The room is dark and unwelcoming. The walls are painted grey and the bed looks like someone chewed it a few times. But there's a huge suitcase on the floor and a bottle of whiskey on the desk.

Laurel turns around to face Frank as he quietly closes the door. She's not sure what to say – she didn't actually had a plan as she took the cab here. She had a lot of time to think of some sort of explanation; apology, even, but she decided to waste the ride on talking with the driver, who wasn't really thrilled she's so chatty.

There's a pregnant silence in the room as they stare at each other. There's so much in his eyes Laurel feels like she should hug him or at least give him an awkward shoulder pat, but she forces herself to stay in one place.

“I, uh...” Frank finally breaks the silence by clearing his throat, “I didn't think you'd actually show up.”

“Why wouldn't I?” she answers way too fast, which makes them both trail away yet again.

An awkward silence was never a thing for them – they used to fill it with laughter and stories and food. Their relationship was never weird, not in a way most of the relationships are – they felt comfortable around each other before they started sleeping together. And long before they started doing all those couple-y things like dinner dates and visits at his parents' house.

“I'm sorry,” she finally says. “I know I've said it before, but I just… feel like I need to say it again.”

“It's not your falt,” he sighs. “You were upset and it was me who put you in that position in the first place.”

“Yes, because I wanted to know the truth,” without realising it, Laurel takes a few steps closer to him. “And then I couldn't deal with it.”

“I'm glad you didn't just brush it off,” he says, after another few seconds of silence. She sends him some sort of worried look. “I can't imagine a world in which you'd be okay with what I did.”

“Frank,” somehow, she's now right in front of him, only milimeters separating their bodies, “what you did, it's not okay. But I'm sure you had a good reason. And I'm sure that if you try to make me understand, I will.”

She touches his chest gently and looks at her, suprise all over over his face. “Does that mean-.”

“I'm ready to hear you,” she supplies. An actualy reassuring smile would be a good thing, but Laurel can't make herself do that.

So she just waits. And he tells her.

The don't even sit.

 

–

 

“You shouldn't blame yourself,” she takes a bottle of whiskey from his desk and takes a sip before handing it to him. “You couldn't know what they were planning.”

“But I should've figured it out,” he silently points out. Laurel is in desperate need of rolling her eyes, but decides against it. It wouldn't make him feel any better.

“There's nothing you could've done. Sure, bugging her in the first place wasn't exactly the best thing to do, but it was just that. You didn't hit her with that car just like you didn't know it would happen. And sure, there are things you could be blaming yourself for, but that's not it,” she once again closes the distance between them. Her thumb lands on his cheek as she strokes it gently. “I feel like this is that one thing that made you do what you did. That you lived in the shade of this events so long it changed you.”

All this time he just looks at her, unable to speak. She can see emotions in his eyes, and he can probably see some similar things in her eyes as well. They say eyes are the mirror of the soul. Maybe it's the truth.

“What I'm trying to say,” Laurel sighs, “is that – I don't understand. But I think I'm starting to. And I know I said I don't want a guy like you to love me, but that's not the truth. I think I might be in love with you, Frank. And I want to have a _thing_ with you, even if you're not a saint. You just made me realise you are _not_ my father. And I want to give it a shot. For real.”

When she's done, he's speachless. She knows that's not what he expected when he heard her voice message, hell, he probably expected her demanding the truth about what happened between him and Sam. But something like this?

“Where are you gonna go, Frank?” she asks. Without really thinking, he places his hand on her back.

“I don't know,” he answers softly, not taking his eyes of of her. At this point she seems like a most precious thing in the world for him – nevermind the money he still has stashed God knows where.

“Would you… consider having me in your life?” her next question is silent, shy really, and it's a thing so unusual for Laurel Castillo that she almost can't believe she said it. But there's no taking words back.

“I don't know much, but I know I love you,” he whispers softly.

“I'm going to have to get back to work, eventually. And school. But I won't tell anyone that you're here, and we'll figure something out,” she informs here, now a shade of smile appearing on her lips. It's probably wrong to feel a tiniest bit of happiness when the entire hell breaks loose, but, well – nobody ever said Laurel Castillo is an angel.

So she stands on her tiptoes and her lips find his.

She might be happy after all.

 


	2. so don't let me, don't let me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a few months, but it's here. the second and final part of this little flaurel story. without further ado, i'm leaving it here. enjoy!

“I applied for a transfer,” Laurel says one night, when they're tangled in sheets in Frank's trashy motel room. “To Harvard. And I got in.”

She can feel Frank taking a deep breath from where she's lying comfortably on his chest. She can't tell if that's because of her confession, or because of the fact that they're still both a little bit breathless after their 'previous activities'.

They spend most of the nigths like this, now. It's been two weeks since she first came here and now, it's like she leaves only for work. There's a bunch of her clothes thrown around the room and they even came grocery shopping twice to the Walmart across the street (and it was great, since they fought over every single product in the shopping cart).

They're more domestic than when they were actually dating. In a way, they're dating now, again. They say third time's a charm.

“It's a great opportunity,” she continues, not raising her head to look at Frank. She can feel him tense underneath her, but does nothing to stop it.

“Are you going to take it?” he asks, when she starts thinking he's not going to speak at all. “The place, I mean,” he adds, as if she didn't know what he's talking about.

She finally manages to move. She pulls back a little bit, just to see the look on his face. He appears to be deep in thought and deadly serious at the same time. “Do you want me to?” her voice is silent, almost shy, but she didn't intend it that way. She's pretty sure he can tell, by the way his expressions softens.

But then he comes back to being deadly serious. “Laurel, you know as well as I do, it's not my decision to make,” he abstently pulls out his hand from under the covers and starts playing with her hair. “And if you do make it, don't think about me, when you do it.”

“You know, I applied for a transfer after you told me the truth,” she confesses, before thinking it through. If she did, she would probably bit her tounge before saying anything. But it's done. “I figured there's nothing more holding me here.”

He raises his eyebrows and she can practically see question marks in his eyes. She sighs.

“I was never a criminal before,” she hisses and she almost feels guilty when he looks at Frank. “I just wanted to become a lawyer, so I came _here_ , as far as I could from my family, to one of the best law schools in the country. But now I work with a person who still hires me only because I killed someone.”

“Hey,” she realises she said it all a little bit too loud when Frank softly whispers to calm her down, “none of this is your fault, 'kay? And Annalise doesn't hire you _only_ because you're a part of your stupid study group. She hires you because you're brilliant, open-minded and you're one hell of a lawyer.”

It makes her smile and it's probably her first real smile since the night they broke up. “I'm not technically a lawyer yet,” she mutters, but even if she wants to add something, she's cut off when Frank's lips find hers.

It takes her aproximately five seconds to realise what he's doing. When she does, she moves away so quickly she almost falls of the bed, probably taking Frank with her in the process. He catches her before she can cause any damage. His hand on her waist keeps her in place, and the other one is on her wrist.

They look into each other's eyes, and Laurel's the first one to break the eye contact.

“You think I don't know what you're doing just no,” she hisses, but this time there's no anger in her voice.

There's a cocky smirk on Frank's face. “What am I doing, exactly?”

“You,” she sits up on the bed, “are trying to take my mind off the serious stuff, because you don't wanna talk about it.”

She tries to ignore the way he basically eats her with his eyes and shields her naked body with the sheets, naturally revieling Frank in the process. Of course, that only makes him smile wider.

“Focus,” she commands. He raises his eyebrows on her, but obeys. “I was thinking that maybe, if I decided to go, you would come with me.”

Frank is speachless after he hears it, Laurel can tell. He opens his mouth and then closes it, without saying a word.

“You can't live in this crappy motel forever,” she supplies. She knows that's a great proposition, especially since Annalise doesn't seem to forgive Frank, at least for the time being. And if anything changes, they could always come back here after her law school. She actually grown fond of Philly over those last few months.

“I-,” Frank, once again, doesn't say anything. “Laurel-.”

“Okay,” she says, covering some strategic parts of his body with the sheet she's still holding, “just hear me out. It's not like I'm proposing to you, or something. We don't have to be together forever, you know. But you made it pretty clear you're not staying in Philly. We can always visit your parents here, Cambridge's not _that_ far. Of course,” she stops, and she says the next part more shyly, “if you want to.”

There's a heavy silence in the room and she thinks that's her cue to run away. She's actually considering it, for a second or two, before he opens his mouth and this time forms his words.

“Laurel,” he says seriously. He catches her free hand in his. “You should know by now, there's not much I wouldn't do for you. And if that's whatcha want, then sure, let's go to Cambridge. But is it _really_ what you want? Because I'd hate to see you making a decision you will regret later on only because of me.”

It's not like Laurel wasn't expecting something like this. She thought, back at home, that it would somehow annoy her, but no, it only makes her love him more.

 _Love_ _him_.

The words she didn't say to him, not yet. She figured it out after she heard his story in this very same motel room, but didn't do much with it. She had to come to grips with everything that happened first. And something tells her after saying it out loud, she won't be able to dodge questions about Frank at work.

“I was thinking about this whole last week,” she finally says, “and after recent events, it seems like it's the best decision. Besides, it's Harvard.”

“Is Hair Gel gonna join us?” he asks, a playful smirk appearing on his face. It's like he can't even stay serious for ten minutes. “How about his boyfriend?”

“Oh, take your pick,” Laurel smirks too, as Frank sits down and almost completely closes the distance between their bodies. Of course, the sheet covering him falls in the process. Laurel doesn't even try to stop the look she gives him. “We can choose only one of them for the threesome.”

“Do you want to,” Frank says as he moves even closer to her, “have a threesome?”

Laurel can feel his lips on her neck as he says it, and she playfully hits him on the chest. Of course she's hurt more than him because damn, that man takes working out way too seriously. She's pretty sure he's attending some gym everyday when she's not there.

“Frank,” there's an urgency in her voice, but when she sees his face and he's beard's in a mess (it's much longer, since he doesn't really bother to go to some barber to take care of it), she smiles.

“So,” this time his lips find her _lips,_ but he only brushes them, “we're really doing this.”

“I guess we are,” she's smiling again.

“Harvard, here we come,” when he says it, Laurel can't stay serious any longer. She bursts out in a laugh and that's the most honest thing she's done in a while.

“You know,” she tells him after she composes herself, “you can get a job there. You know, teach girls some good manners.”

“Laurel,” his voice is lower than usally. His hand finds his way under the covers.

“Fuck, Frank,” she hisses after a few seconds.

She only earns a wide smile of a crazy person from him. “With pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://natsclnt.tumblr.com)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://natsclnt.tumblr.com)  
> \+ title from the chainsmokers' _don't let me down_


End file.
